


Of a Father

by DarkestHeir



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: F/M, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestHeir/pseuds/DarkestHeir
Summary: Joxter had stayed with Mymble, and maybe there was always a reason mumriks left their children so young.





	Of a Father

**Author's Note:**

> This is if the Joxter stayed and took care of snufkin even just a little bit and got to watch him grow up because I’m super nasty and have lots of issues.

Mymble was certainly a very special woman, there was something enchanting about her and the way she moved, talked, and reacted to the world around her. She was just as playful as he was, and he couldn’t step away from a lovely creature while he stayed on the island. So Joxter had spent a few nights in her bed, a few more wrapped up in her arms, and some more staring at the twinkling night sky above them. When he left there was no arguing, no desperate pleas for him to stay and no angry glares when he returned.

When he returned it, all felt the same. She had grown much larger than he had remembered, but he had been gone much longer than he was certain of. Time was not a thing mumriks like him kept track of very well, or at all. They slipped back into a routine, much different than their first but still a routine. She had children, which is how he learned Mymble’s had litters. He would carefully avoid them unless they invaded her space for too long and he got a bit angry. Despite their free nature, he was a bit possessive and needy on the rare occasion. He would smoke outside amongst the trees. He would come inside to her warmth and hugs and a table filled with rambunctious children that loved to try playing with his tail. 

In bed she changed. A lot more commanding and a lot bigger than him (size yes, but power). Joxter more than happy to give her control, until he was an arching sweaty mess of pleas and aching legs. Thighs trembling as she pressed a kiss to his calf, her hands steady as his clenched into the soft sheets of her bed. 

Bent at a perfect angle, tail flicking in the air as she brushed it aside and kissed his back. Used like a toy on some occasions and Joxter loved it,. Every second, every burning stretch, every lipstick stained kiss that went from his mouth, down his chest, circled around the trail of fur and dipped right down onto him. Unable to touch, sometimes unable to move, or speak, or see. It depended on her mood, and he was always more than willing. 

On a much more romantic night, on a picnic blankets long after the children had gone to bed and a few glasses of wine had been sipped. Mymble had Joxter pressed between her thighs, lips parted, delicately moaning. Both of their faces warm from the alcohol and both clinging to each other. Muttering sweet little things that were sometimes lost to the cool night breeze until they were both satisfied. They held onto each other afterwards, a messy mix of sweat, wine, and smeared lipstick that was placed gently onto Joxter’s face and neck. The mess between Mymble’s legs was a different matter to be cleaned, of which Joxter absolutely volunteered. Tongue rough like sandpaper and fingers adept to exactly what he needed to do spurred on by the gentle shake of Mymble’s thighs and her near silent moans. Her long delicately painted nails scraping against his skull and tangling into his dark black hair. By the time he finished cleaning, and Mymble was more than satisfied, his mouth was a mixture of grapes and salt.

What a gentleman. 

It would come as no surprise to Mymble that she was pregnant a few weeks later. Waking from their gentle loving embrace to move to the bathroom; a familiar feeling of nausea waking her and making her empty last night’s leftovers into the porcelain toilet. Joxter went undisturbed as he lay in bed, listening to Mymble sigh before flushing. To the untrained eye it might seem as if Joxter was sleeping, but Mymble knew him well enough to say the facts into the crisp air of her room that morning.

“I’m pregnant.”

Mymble was independent, she didn’t need Joxter to stay around for a child. So when he disappeared for a few days, she didn’t panic. She continued living her life as she always had, albeit dropping wine from her dinner meals and lunch. Life continued as it always had, and maybe she did miss the man a little bit, missed waking up and hearing him purr into her arms. Her tiny mumrik with his hair dark like night, blue eyes as shiny as the sky reflected on the beautiful ponds near her home.

The Joxter himself didn’t go far. He stayed and slept in the trees by the Mymble’s house, watching from a distance as the children wreaked havoc day after day. Sometimes getting lemonade or water dumped on them as the occasional fight broke out. It made Joxter chuckle, genuine and light hearted. 

Every bone in his body was telling him to leave. His child was on the way; he didn’t need to be tied down. 

His heart, on the other hand, told him to stay, even if it was just to watch the child be born. Joxter was curious, as he naturally was, and his brain quickly began talking over his instincts. He knew Mymble wouldn’t force him to stay; it wasn’t who she was. She hadn’t forced him to stay before and wouldn't force him to stay now. It was as simple as that.

So after a month of staying in the trees with his keen blue eyes watching Mymble from afar, he returned with little commotion and life continued as it had again. The only difference was Mymble’s food cravings that meant odd meals and mood swings that sometimes ended up with him tied to the bed more often than not. Of course, no complaints were had, the children excited for the new possible siblings and scribbled names on paper to give to the both of them. Some babbling excitedly about what they were going to teach the kit. Joxter couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t endearing, they were all so excited. They didn’t seem to mind that Joxter had left and simply came back, so they were ok in his book. 

Mymble made a comment of how this pregnancy was much easier than the ones before it, and Joxter had an urge to ask who the other children belonged to but instead chewed on his fruit and left to go outside for a smoke like he always had. Away from the children and away from his pregnant lover. He would watch the smoke rise into the sky, black or blue or pink, and wondered what would become of him if he truly did stay. 

He wondered this up to the day his son was born. Where they had been sat so pleasantly at the table long after the children had gone to sleep, simply enjoying each others presence as he played solitaire. It was a comfortable night. The air was pleasant and warm until it wasn't. Mymble had carefully informed him of the situation when the pain began, and she took particular joy in watching the lazy mumrik’s eyes widen as he rushed to help her. Joxter’s hands had been shaking, every part of him couldn’t help but wonder why he was still here as the night began to drag on.

Mymble had been mostly silent aside form pained moans and groans of effort. It took hours, and Joxter wasn’t one to get queasy but he couldn't deny that the image wasn’t pleasant and made him want to leave and smoke. Many painful hours passed as Joxter tried to help a woman that already knew what she was doing, mind reeling and stomach churning from what he wasn’t sure, until it all stopped.

The baby wasn’t fussy, in fact after the initial cry it gave and letting them all know he could breathe, he quieted down immediately. Mymble and Joxter were both in awe. Mymble because it had been a single birth, Joxter because he didn’t think he could have ever love something as much as he had in one moment. Loving how his face scrunched up in irritation as Joxter booped his nose. He couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up his throat, strained with tears. Joxter wasn’t sure why he was crying but he was crying. 

The boy was adorable, hair splotchy in areas with dark eyes, a tail flicking against his hand underneath the blanket and delicate freckles brushing the babies shoulders, “Snufkin,” Joxter breathed and Mymble smiled gently as she was handed the precious bundle right back.

“Snufkin”

Snufkin took after Joxter quite a bit, the only evidence that he was something other than a full blooded mumrik were the patterns of his fur and his need for attention. A lot less than the other children in the house but he still wanted the attention. Mymble had told him all children needed attention to properly grow and thrive, so he spent time with Snufkin strapped to his chest or coddled to his arm. Whether it be carving wood or actually doing work that Mymble put him up to, Snufkin demanded to be by his side. 

He wasn’t keen on the idea of being a good father, but he tried anyways. 

When Snufkin cried in the middle of the night, he wondered why he ever stayed.

Joxter would leave sometimes still, coming back to a crying Snufkin and gifts in his bag for his son. The other children as well but most of the things he gave his son had been a lot harder to steal. Handing him over a golden harmonica carefully wrapped in a towel he had snatched from a house that had been air drying its laundry. 

The brilliant smile Snufkin gave him was all worth it.

Snufkin only got closer to Joxter, he wanted his father's attention as much as possible. It was exhausting, but in the end the mumrik considered it worth it. Always more than happy to hold his kit and watch Snufkin smile back at him with glowing brown eyes. 

Joxter didn’t know much about mumrik kits. Maybe there was a reason one was hardly ever around to raise them. Maybe it was the mymble genes mixing within Snufkin that got him such a reaction. Although she had assured him that such clingy behavior was normal for Snufkin, especially since he didn’t seem to fancy the other kids to be around him. So Joxter ignored it, and maybe he shouldn’t have, but it was too late to dwell on that. Too late as Snufkin grew and the clinging turned into something more.

He could see right through Snufkin, as he saw through most of everyone. 

It had all changed, or gone wrong, but Snufkin wanted more. Joxter could never figure out what more was, sure to reveal itself when ready. It had been already, such an impossibility blooming right before all of their eyes. The way Snufkin smiled as Joxter ruffled his hair, holding his hand to lead him through the forests near or far from their home. Beaming and topped with passionate adoration Joxter had never seen. Snufkin was filled with love, so much love and it was just for Joxter.

Who was to think that it had grown so far?

The attachment wasn’t normal, and it was confirmed when Snufkin was 16 and he gave Joxter his own first kiss. It was sweet, both of them outside and smelling of smoke, tasting of fresh fruit. Joxter’s pipe had clattered to the ground, spilling ash and burning tobacco to the grass. There was so much warmth and life pushing against him as his son got closer. Inexperienced as clear as day, and Joxter wasn’t going to let that last.

So the first kiss was smeared on Joxter’s lips, opening, closing, pushing and pulling. Breath getting heavier and trembling hands tangling in the dark red of Joxter’s smock. All the while Joxter’s longer hands found their way to Snufkin’s sides, down, up, down, up. Joxter loved to break rules, it ran through his blood as fast as he could get it. This was something not meant to be touched upon and yet Snufkin opened up so well and let him lead.

Maybe Joxter should have left it alone, left the warm honey colored eyes that implored him for more alone. He shouldn’t have indulged, he shouldn’t have grabbed Snufkin so tight and pulled him into his lap right there on the porch. Making the boy gasp and flush so red it seemed to almost shine in the fading light of day. His son, still so young, the freckles of his youth disappearing in his skin and underneath the pads of his thumb; Joxter’s fingers caressing Snufkin’s face.

He shouldn’t have pulled that boy away from his home, their home. Where his lovely partner was sure to be finishing up dinner. Soon to call them, for sure, but if she did they never overhead it with the blood rushing in their ears.

It was unplanned, a spur of the moment situation. Wet lips finding their way to untouched skin, fingers pulling down, snagging on the waistband. Snufkin felt as if he was in a dream, hot breath spreading across the skin of his thighs and making the fur of his body stand on end. They said nothing to each other, not like Joxter could when the rugged top side of his tongue licked a stripe right up Snufkin’s cock. In all of Snufkin’s youthful inexperience, his legs threatened to give out from the pure sensitivity. 

The word ‘daddy’ was never the same again, not when Snufkin’s beautiful voice was moaning it out everytime Joxter gave a particularly hard suck. Claws nicking at his beloved son’s thighs, lips pursed, fingers entangled in Joxter’s black mass of hair. Snufkin’s chest was struggling to catch the cooling air of the night, eyes shining in the dark and reflecting stars as they watched Joxter lick his lips clean. 

Snufkin was enthralled in his own father, and Joxter found something new to be enchanted with. Between Snufkin’s brown and padded paw, his soft lips that had known little love, and the cries that echoed like songs in the forest of their home.

The night never ended too early for them, fumbling hands quickly finding skilled ones. Letting them lead into a haze of open mouthed kisses and desperate cries that shook the forest awake. Wet salty skin, rough tongues, kisses to the thighs and slowly sinking teeth. Snufkin considered it his heaven, especially when Joxter would brush their lips together. Their air intermingling and sweet, all before Joxter would purr and kiss him. 

It wasn’t a typical thing.

No father should want to run his hands down their sons sides. Nimble fingers carefully tracing intricate designs on and inside of a beautiful arching boy. One that throws his head back to plead, pushing and clinging to every movement, every word. Something near indescribable of tanned skin and loving bruises.

Then again. Maybe somewhere along the line mumriks must throw away not only the law, but social conventions that hold them back from honey tinged kisses of the early morning.

Joxter had no guilt with his form. He simply thought of how he should feel guilt. For deflowering his precious son, for loving the chaste kisses that were placed on the corners of his mouth. For passionately loving his son much more than a man should dare.

All he felt was love. The one that pushed him to pass his thumb against the softness of Snufkin’s cheek and counted the star burst of freckles upon his rosy skin. Snufkin seemed to return the sentiment, letting his lovely mouth find its way back to Joxter’s cheek, the corner of his lips, the palms of his hands. 

A curiosity is what they are, but then again most mumriks tend to be. If they happen to have a bit more oddities than most, they might pile them on. After all, what is morality to the taste of Snufkin. Now far from home, in the cold of winter.

Joxter isn’t sure, but they will always find each other to try and find an answer. If there was one they weren't sure either, but it didn't matter in the end. A simple excuse to meet one another halfway into the lean, into the touch, was enough. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
